Seven Saviors, Seven Rogues
by MercedesCarello
Summary: Lord El-Melloi II failed to dismantle the Grail after the Fifth War. Ten years later, he gathers seven scattered magi with the belief that they, in a pseudo-War, will finally see his goal through to the end. However, not only does this spawn a second, rogue set of Servants intent on protecting the Grail, his 'Seven Saviors' begin to form their own agendas - and new alliances.
1. Chapter 1

**A Note From the Author:**

Thanks for viewing! I wanted to quickly establish that this is my first time writing a crossover, and also that in terms of the Fate Series, I am mostly using information from the Fate/Zero and Fate/stay night timelines. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 _Monday January 27th, 2024_

 _Your Lordship,_

 _It is with great honor that I formally accept your invitation to become part of the 'Seven Saviors', as you so called it. I have come to the conclusion that we can only benefit from our cooperation; I apologize for having been vague before and, in the process, having done our friendship a disservice. I am flattered that you'd consider including me and entrusting me with this mighty task that lies before us._

 _Further to our previous discussions, I can confirm that I am in possession of the catalyst for whom I believe to be an appropriate Servant - due to its nature, however, I will not summon it until myself and the other mages have received your specific instructions. Of course, I can assure you that it will be more than able to assist me in facilitating your goals._

 _I look forward to meeting you again in London in five days' time. If there's anything else I can do for you, you of course have my telelink data; please feel free to contact me via a far more efficient - if less elegant - method._

 _I remain ever at your service._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Erwin Smith_

Erwin signed, replaced the cap of his silver fountain pen and set it aside. He then lifted the page to blow across his trademark emerald ink.

There was something incredibly satisfying about handwriting, even were he not a magus. It was something lost in today's world of near-instantaneous, constant communication through the 'net, and something that he'd fought to preserve in some small part. The physical act of forming individual letters, right down to each individual stroke - unique to every individual that bothered to still practice the art - was therapeutic to the point of being almost meditative in nature. In fact, he reflected as he deftly made a trifold of the thick page, it was precisely calligraphy that had opened his eyes to the true beauty of magecraft and enabled him to overcome his prior limitations. How long ago that was.

Erwin tucked the letter into an already-addressed envelope and, for added fun, sealed it with wax and his jade stamp. A knock sounded just as he set the stamp to one side. "Come in," he called.

The door to his study opened to reveal his longtime friend, Levi, with his thick wool coat already on and his briefcase in hand. He closed the door behind him.

"Leaving for the day, Ackerman?" Erwin said, looking over his shoulder out his window over the sunset-striped lawn of the academy. "At least you haven't lost track of time, like me!" he chuckled and began to get his desk in order, remembering his dinner plans not too long from now.

"Easy to do on the shorter days," Levi said.

"Right you are."

As Erwin filed a few things away in a drawer, he sensed Levi approach the desk - slowly, hesitant. So it was with little surprise that he soon heard Levi's matching, unusually hesitant voice begin, "Listen, Smith. I feel like there's some bullshit between us lately - something neither of us feels like they can tell the other even though we want to. I figured I'd just come out and ask."

Intrigued, Erwin paused and looked up. "Your style as usual," he said. "Go on. I promise not to fire you." He smirked.

The fire and the sunset turned Levi's eyes to pools of molten lead. "Did Lord El-Melloi contact you?" he asked. "Surely he did, because he contacted me - and he knows there's not one of us without the other. Something about a renewed attempt to dismantle the Grail?"

Oddly, Erwin felt himself a little disheartened to hear his assumptions confirmed. Although he and Levi had worked together before and he had no problems with it now, part of him had wished that Levi would sit this one out. Anything involving the Holy Grail tended to be unpredictable and messy and while that didn't necessarily mean their friendship would be adversely affected, it couldn't help but make him anxious for it.

He must have hesitated too long, because Levi scoffed, "Never mind. Of course you were. Lord El-Melloi would have been stupid not to include someone of your caliber." He looked away at the fireplace, walked over to begin poking it to death for the night.

"Am I that transparent to you?" Erwin smiled and stood. He tucked the letter into an inner pocket of his blazer.

"After over twenty years? How could you be anything else?" Levi grumbled. "I'm glad we got that out in the air - I don't like us having secrets from one another. So do you have a Servant picked out?"

"I believe so, yes," Erwin saw no point in lying - they'd all be on the same team, after all. "You?"

"Not a matter of picking. My uncle will probably piss himself for joy - there's only ever been one Servant I'd ever have should the day come that I'd need one. Inheritance is a bitch, sometimes."

Erwin remembered. "But in this case, also a blessing. I'm not sure who else Lord El-Melloi has contracted, but with the two of us he stands a good chance of succeeding." Erwin walked over to his coat stand and procured his own coat and scarf, slipping into them.

Done with the fire, Levi pushed his hands into his pockets and turned to him in the half-light. "Not worried about getting on the bad side of the Mages' Association? That's quite the chunk of funding to replace should they hear about us helping someone they don't like do something they don't like even more."

"I'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Shall we?"

The two of them exited the study, Erwin handing the letter off to his personal assistant as they passed. The halls of the Academy for Independent Magi were deserted owing to the Monday free-day in place that allowed for mentors to conduct private study; it was Erwin's favorite part of the week and to stroll through it made him glad he'd made that edit to the school's calendar. The centuries-old building had once been one of the most prominent common-education universities on this side of North America, having fallen into disrepair following the 'net-education boom - its neo-classical architecture appealed to his more antiquated sensibilities and, he felt, suited the new discipline it had played host to for the last ten years ever since he bought it at auction.

"This place is so fucking cold. Fine if you wanted a castle for yourself but did you have to drag the rest of us into it?" Levi sighed.

Erwin laughed lightly. "London won't be much better, you know."

First one flight of stairs, and then on the second, Levi said, "I never thought you'd be the type to want the Grail dismantled."

The statement surprised him. "Oh?"

"Mm." When he seemed to sense the sound alone wouldn't do, Levi added, "You were always about reclaiming former glory - getting back what was lost, not killing a way of life."

Erwin did not let himself hesitate. "Even when that way of life was, itself, killing?" He watched his hand as it glided down the stone banister. "We have new responsibilities, Levi. They're our duty, now."

* * *

Saturday 31st January, 2024  
 _The Northern Line Hotel, Old Plymouth, England_

Lord El-Melloi II paced in front of the wide sleet-streaked window that dominated the far livingroom wall of the penthouse suite. He sipped the china cup in his hand and, upon realizing it was empty, set it with its saucer on the the sideboard underneath the matching brushstrokes of moth orchid. He glanced at the clock over the roaring fireplace - almost five thirty. His guests should be arriving any minute now.

He pushed his dark hair over his shoulders and folded his arms, returning to the window. It was hard to see out into the evening's stormy darkness, even with the lights of Old Plymouth's streets gleaming like icy blue leylines and funneling automated traffic in and out of the nearby sea-rail port, itself an inverted chalice of electricity and mana. He tried to peer down the eighteen lower stories of his hotel, but instead had to rely on magecraft to sense anything about who approached and left the building. He could only hope that his affairs hadn't been sensed by the Mages' Association - that no one had been dispatched to interrupt him - but knew it was only a matter of time.

He detected seven magi approaching the suite in an elevator, then at a leisurely pace down the hall, led by a hotel attendant. Lord El-Melloi turned expectantly just as the attendant wrapped a gloved knuckle on the door. He placed his hands behind his back, lifted his chin and adjusted his stance, and called, "Enter." The navy-uniformed attendant opened the double doors and stood to one side, allowing the magi to enter.

As he anticipated, they were led by the oldest - and most experienced - of the group: Erwin Smith, Dean of his own Academy of Independent Magi, followed by Levi Ackerman, his ever-present Head Warden of the same Academy - although opposite in appearance, with Smith's tall frame and blond hair and Ackerman's shorter, darker stature, Lord El-Melloi knew them to be equal in almost all other respects, including the prized elemental affinity in magecraft. His contemporaries, he supposed he could call them, though they had taken a far different road.

After them came a pair of faces more familiar to him - Connie Springer, a rebellious 7th-Level student of the Mages' Association with a close-shaven scalp that, as his name suggested, seemed too full of energy to be contained even by a large room by himself; and Marco Bodt, a freckled, gentler sort that had led him to the misfortune of dropping out early from the same Association to take care of an ailing relative - Lord El-Melloi didn't care to remember which. Springer cackled at the sight of the room and immediately headed for the sectional, practically throwing himself on it, while Bodt looked around him appreciatively.

Somewhat hunched under his tousle of blond hair, intimidated no doubt, was the youngest of the group and Lord El-Melloi's most pleasing discovery - Armin Arlert, to all intents and purposes a prodigy untouched as of yet by any particular association, academy, or calling. He stopped not far into the room and as a result, Historia Reiss bumped into him; the bubble she'd been blowing with her gum popped and she drew it back into her mouth, chewing absentmindedly in response to Arlert's stuttered apology. Despite the weather Reiss wore clothing more suited to a vagabond traveling the southern hemisphere, which he supposed was exactly where she'd been summoned from.

Last but not least was the Sea of Astray's migration scout, Bertholdt Hoover. Despite his slinking-in and generally unintimidating presence, Lord El-Melloi was very aware of how he immediately took stock of his surroundings and how he would do exactly the same when they reached their destination. He had been reluctant to acquire Hoover only at the Sea of Astray's whim, and did not like striking deals with such people, particularly when their end goals did not necessarily match.

The attendant shutting the doors brought Lord El-Melloi back to the present. He smiled cordially and shook the hands of Smith and Ackerman. "Good to see you again," he said. "Thank you for coming."

"Likewise," Smith said.

Ackerman, however, sighed, and did not remove his coat. "Shall we get on with it, then?"

"Ever-efficient, I see," Lord El-Melloi conceded. He cleared his throat and addressed the attendant that remained, "Hammerman, if you could please alert the dinner staff - give us about half an hour. Hot drinks in the meantime."

"Very good, your Lordship."

When Hammerman was gone and - he detected - entering the elevator, he addressed the room. "I appreciate your punctuality, and overall, let me extend my thanks to all of you for agreeing to meet with me. I am, of course, Lord El-Melloi II."

"Can you still have that title even though you're not in the Mages' Association anymore?" quipped Springer.

He supposed he should have expected that. "You may not be my student any longer, Springer, but that does not mean you should disrespect your elders. And anyway, that title is easiest, wouldn't you agree?"

Springer grumbled something and returned to staring at the ceiling.

"Please make yourselves comfortable," Lord El-Melloi II invited and most, barring Hoover and Ackerman, did so. "I have held conversations with most of you before now as to the purpose of this meeting, but for the sake of clarity let me surmise: as you know, ten years after the Fifth Holy Grail War I, with the help of others, attempted to dismantle the Greater Grail against the wishes of the Mages' Association to which I belonged at the time, in an effort to stop needless bloodshed and destruction in future generations. Those efforts were not successful. Us gathering here tonight, a further ten years later, signifies my re-attempt."

He glanced around the room and found his listeners in various states of attentiveness, but attentive nonetheless. It was promising.

"My intention is to form a team of 'Seven Saviors' - Masters that will summon appropriate Servants in order to summon the Grail again, before its time, to destroy it. I contacted each of you because I believe you have something unique to contribute to this cause. However, should any of you wish to forfeit now is the time, and there won't be any hard feelings if so." And he meant that. Mostly. To be honest there wasn't much time to find replacements that would work as well as anyone here, but he was prepared to make that sacrifice if he absolutely had to. "Of course, if you have any questions, please ask."

"I'm guessing there's a spot picked out for the summoning, if it's early like this? Fuyuki?" Reiss piped up, brushing her blonde hair back from her face and edging closer to the fire.

Lord El-Melloi opened his mouth to reply, but Arlert answered for him. "That would be too obvious - the Mages' Association would be watching it constantly for any kind of reattempt."

He smiled, despite himself. "That's correct. Of course I can't reveal the exact location until I'm certain all of you are on board, but yes, it's been pre-determined and prepared for our arrival."

"What about Servants?" Bodt continued. "I don't have a catalyst…" he hung his head like an unprepared schoolboy.

"I was not expecting everyone to have a catalyst on such short notice and limited resources," said Lord El-Melloi. "For those who do not, I have managed to acquire them."

"So which do we get?" asked Springer.

Lord El-Melloi cut him a sharp glance at his tone. "Whichever you are given." He paced a little, wished for a cigar. "Not to worry - I have a system in place that will arrange a suitable match-up."

A knock at the door again and, after verifying the aura, Lord El-Melloi called for entry. Hammerman wheeled in a cart stocked with lidded pitchers, steam rising from their spouts, and cups and saucers. The smells of tea, coffee and chocolate mingled in the already-warm air and most of the group gratefully flocked to them. Only when he excused himself once more and the door was shut did Lord El-Melloi continue.

"Any other questions?"

Smith served himself some tea with refined movements. "I'm sure the younger members of our group are wondering not only why they were picked but also, what the repercussions might be of choosing to do this."

"I refuse to lie and say it is not without potential dangers, but those can be minimized if we move quickly. As for repercussions, I'd say they are more to those of us who have reputations to ruin. Many of you have none. And wouldn't you rather be known as a peacekeeper than an average magus who simply kept one's hands clean?"

The silence he got was what he expected. Tense, the group gradually took their seats again, drinks in hand, and Lord El-Melloi served himself. He smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sunday 1st February 2024  
 _Eastern Line, southbound from Old Plymouth_

Armin looked out the window beside his seat in the private first-class car Lord El-Melloi had secured for them aboard the Eastern Line train. The sun had leapt from the horizon and was leaving a fiery trail toward them over the English Channel, scraps of which were caught in the drops of sea- and rainwater streaking past his nose. He'd never been to Europe and wished it was under slightly different circumstances, though he couldn't deny being a little excited about what awaited them.

Sea-rail trains were incredibly streamlined and boasted thick exteriors, even windows, and so the only sounds in the open-plan car were small fragments of murmured conversation from the group and the clink of silverware on crockery from the remains of breakfast. Armin had been surprised the previous evening when, after dinner, everyone had stayed - no one had forfeited. They'd then retired to individual suites Lord El-Melloi had booked for them in the Northern Line Hotel, and met again only an hour or two ago to embark from the Old Plymouth port. Lord El-Melloi had seen fit to tell them they were headed for Europe, and promised to divulge more after breakfast, now that the team was confirmed.

Armin looked around the car. He sat alone, somewhat in the middle, as did Lord El-Melloi straight ahead toward the front of the car. On the opposite side at the very back, Hoover also sat alone and appeared somewhat broody and standoffish. Bodt and Springer reluctantly sat together in the middle of the car no doubt due to their shared background as Mages' Association students and seemed to be managing collegial conversation, and Reiss, amused by them, sat with them. Opposite them and directly in front of him, Ackerman and Smith of course sat together but this time shared comfortable silence. Every so often Smith would glance up at him and Armin wondered whether he recognized his name from his early application to the Academy. Part of him hoped so, and some stranger part of him hoped not.

When it happened again, Armin hurriedly turned his attention to the rest of his apple scone and finished it off despite being too anxious to be hungry. He heard a cup be placed on a saucer, and footsteps.

"You must be the Arlert that applied early to AIM."

Armin cleaned off his fingers with a serviette and looked up, managing a smile. "I am. I didn't expect to meet you like this, Dean Smith."

Smith smiled back at him and extended his hand, which Armin shook. "Funny how the world works, isn't it? Nonetheless, I'm glad to meet you. You've got quite the letter of reference if Lord El-Melloi has involved you in this at such a young age."

"Thank you, Sir," Armin replied. "It's an honor to work with you."

"Well, if everyone's finished eating…" Lord El-Melloi interrupted. He folded his paper and set it aside, rising. "I suppose I should tell you that we're headed for the Black Forest of southern Germany; I expect it won't take us long to get there since I've chartered this train to take us directly." He pulled a large briefcase from the seat in front of him and walked to roughly the center of the car where there was a small table. "If you could gather round, please."

Armin and the others approached the table, surrounding it, although he noticed that Smith and Ackerman stood back a small ways. Lord El-Melloi set the briefcase on its side and undid its three brass clasps, which flicked back against the chocolatey leather. He lifted the lid to reveal a larger, velvet-covered box that took up the majority of the interior, and procured five satin blindfolds from what little space remained down one side. These were passed out to the younger magi while Ackerman and Smith looked on.

"What're these for?" Springer scoffed.

Lord El-Melloi shrugged. "A formality, for the most part. The four of you without catalysts are going to choose yours now - the blindfolds are mostly ceremonial to excuse me from bias, though in reality you would be drawn to a particular catalyst anyway even if you didn't like the look of it. Put them on, please."

They did so; the satin was cold on Armin's forehead. Plunged into relative dark, his hearing but also his sense for auras picked up the slack. He was surprised to find that he couldn't detect any kind of aura whatsoever from the contents of the suitcase, even when he heard its inner box be lifted away and set aside.

"Once you've picked, remain blindfolded for the time being, please. Ladies first, I suppose. Miss Reiss?" Lord El-Melloi said.

Armin saw the faint peachy glow of her aura step forward and wave a hesitant hand over the suitcase. After a few long moments, Armin was taken aback by a part of the suitcase glowing white and pulling upward to meet her hand as though magnetized. Her other hand took hold of it and she stepped back. The process was repeated with all of them, with Armin last - he felt a box strike his palm and as Reiss had done, used both hands to hold it. He couldn't tell anything else about it.

"You can take the blindfolds off, now," said Lord El-Melloi.

When Armin drew his away he saw Lord El-Melloi replacing the lid of the suitcase's inner box, concealing a row of other, smaller boxes of varying sizes inside; they matched the ones he and the others now held - a navy blue grasscloth-like texture that, he reasoned, must have a type of concealing ward on it to make the contents anonymous.

"Feel free to open them - after all, we're all on the same team - but we'll refrain from any summonings until we reach our destination," Lord El-Melloi said as he took the suitcase away.

"I guess you guys already have your catalysts?" Springer asked Smith and Ackerman.

"We do," said Smith with a smile.

Armin hurried to open his arm-length box, feeling very much like all his birthdays had come at once - would it be a dagger? a shard of sword? a bone? He lifted the lid and tucked it under his arm, and was perplexed by what lay inside: on a bed of cotton like a museum specimen lay the end of a rather battered red fox tail, its white tip matted with something dark and dried. Although logic told him that this was an object of immense, perhaps even holy, importance, he couldn't help but feel a little deflated. He glanced up to see what the others were opening.

Reiss was staring down at the remains of an ancient leather sandal, looking in envy at Hoover, whose fingers were grazing over the glimmering gilt of a laurel wreath. Springer and Bodt were confused, too, the former with an oddly-shaped carved ivory ring and the latter with a single long, tattered, sable-colored glove. None of them seemed to correspond right away with any heroic spirits he could think of, or even a particular class of Servant. But then, he supposed, it was rarely obvious.

"Can't we trade?" Reiss said quietly.

Armin saw Lord El-Melloi's already-sharp features sharpen further. "You felt it - the catalysts effectively picked you. It's a more diluted version of the Grail aligning Servant with Master out of character compatibility. I'd advise not to go against the tide." His voice rose, "And who knows? You might be pleasantly surprised."

"I do have a question, Lord El-Melloi II," said Bodt.

The older man raised his eyebrows at him inquisitively.

Bodt replaced the lid on the glove's box. "Maybe I'm wrong and if so, someone feel free to correct me, but: isn't there a risk that when the Grail detects that all seven Servants are working together, there's a possibility that even more Servants may be summoned to shake things up, as it were?"

"It is a possibility, yes," said Lord El-Melloi. "Which is why it's necessary that we work quickly before that happens."

* * *

Later that day  
 _Sankt Blasien_

Traveling directly through Paris, the train then headed east for Stuttgard, where they disembarked and traveled the rest of the way by cars again secured by Lord El-Melloi. Though somewhat antiquated compared to the sea-rail and upgraded AutoBahn systems, the cars allowed them the independence of movement that Lord El-Melloi needed to get them all the way to the small town of Sankt Blasien, buried deep in the southern Black Forest.

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the town - or what Armin thought would be a town. The three cars pulled to a stop at the perimeter, where the steep valley widened just enough to cradle several simple stone buildings with ice-etched, sienna-colored roof tiles. It was, however, deserted. No cars, no pedestrians, no sign at all that it was inhabited. The town was dominated by an old, symmetrically-laid-out monastery with a tall, patinaed-copper dome toward its front facade that contrasted against its backdrop of snowy peaks and deep, tall evergreens.

Armin frowned in confusion. _Where are all the people?_ He nevertheless got out of the car when the driver opened the door for him, and Reiss and Hoover joined him. The three of them stood in the middle of the street and stared around them - Hoover more appraisingly, as though merely taking in topographical information for future reference.

"I would have had the entire area razed, to be honest, but my budget only allowed for a forced evacuation," said Lord El-Melloi as he joined the growing, confused group. "Although I suppose it suits us to have a roof over our heads while we're here." The tails of his ruby-red coat flapped in the wind channeled down to them through the main street.

Armin glanced down as the driver placed his suitcase on the road beside him; the other drivers were doing the same for that of the others'. He still held tightly to his catalyst in its box. It was with a twisted sort of relief that he saw the others' faces watch in dismay too as the drivers finished their duty, got back in the cars, and drove away without another word.

"Our ritual will take place at the Sankt Blasien Abbey," Lord El-Melloi nodded toward the monastery. "However, as we all know the summoning of a Servant requires concentration and privacy - to this end I've allocated separate 'bases', as it were, for all of you, which have been marked with flags. I myself will be based at the monastery. Ackerman - red, Arlert - blue, Bodt - green: north side of the monastery. Hoover - orange, Reiss - yellow: west side of the monastery. Smith - white, Springer - violet: east side. My advice is to take the rest of today and tomorrow to summon your Servants and brief them on our purpose here. The day after tomorrow, at Eleven A.M., I expect all of you with your Servants at the monastery so we can begin."

Armin eyed the the jade-colored dome in the distance. "Sir, what is it about this place that will enable us to destroy the Greater Grail? What's here? The Lesser or Greater Grail?"

Lord El-Melloi looked at him over his shoulder, and smirked. "Why not both?"

"The leylines are wonderful here," said Bodt. Armin looked at him to find him turning on his heel to examine their surroundings, an appreciative smile on his face. "No wonder…"

Armin hadn't thought to look but now that he paid attention, he supposed Bodt was right. He fought to put the pieces of the possibility together. He returned his gaze to Lord El-Melloi, "So you're saying, not only has a magic circle for the Greater Grail been established here, but the Lesser Grail - the Holy Grail - is already here? I thought the Lesser Grail was destroyed? What's the purpose in bringing it back? None of us have any desire for it."

"A circle is merely a circle without something to activate it," replied Ackerman. "Just as you can't summon a Servant without a catalyst, you can't wake up the Greater Grail without the key of the Lesser Grail. But I'm confused, too, about how you've managed to acquire anything suitable for the role of a Lesser Grail, El-Melloi," Ackerman turned to the man in question.

"You'll see soon enough," said Lord El-Melloi. "Right now, the most pressing concern is the Servants, don't you think? I trust all of you are able to conduct a summoning ritual without any assistance?"

Armin hadn't stopped to think about this and while he wasn't one hundred percent sure, having not done anything similar in the past, he figured he'd figure it out and as such, said nothing. Everyone else was quiet, too. Luckily Lord El-Melloi wasn't looking their way and so didn't see the nervous glances between the younger members except for Hoover.

"Good," said Lord El-Melloi. "I'll be seeing you all day after next, then. Supplies are waiting for you at your accommodations." He thrust his hands into his coat pockets and without a backward glance, began walking up the main street toward the monastery, the jewel colors of his coat and hair resplendent in the sunshine.

When he was a decent distance ahead, it was Smith that turned to them. "You must forgive him. Our leader isn't one for guidance, I think. It's harder than it looks. Anyway, if you'd like, I'll check in on all of you later this evening to see if you need help with your rituals, since I doubt it's something you've done before."

Ackerman folded his arms and sighed, "We're not at the Academy, Smith. There's no need for that shit."

"We're a team, of course there is," Smith replied and picked up his suitcase.

"We appreciate the gesture, Dean Smith," Armin said as the older man moved away to the east. He received a smile and a wave in reply, and Connie hurried to catch up with him, nearly forgetting his duffle in the process.

"Oi."

Armin returned his attention to Ackerman nervously.

"North people, let's go," said Ackerman and jerked his head over his shoulder. Despite the chill in the air he slung his coat over his shoulder and headed up the slope in the same direction as Lord El-Melloi.

The group dispersed; Armin and Bodt, their arms full of their baggage and catalyst boxes and coats taken off in the car, scrambled after Ackerman.

His freckled cheeks already rosy, Bodt looked at Armin and smiled, "He's quite the hero type, isn't he? Dean Smith."

Armin smiled back and was about to agree that Magus Erwin Smith had been something of a hero to him for a few years now when Ackerman spoke again.

"A word of advice to the young: pick your idols carefully."

"What do you mean, Mr Ackerman?"

"It's Warden Ackerman to you, and I mean that you should pick men, not idols. You know nothing about him, or any of us. Any other situation and that might land you in trouble. Luckily for you, this is a controlled environment - neither of you would survive a real Grail War."

Though it was the shadow of the buildings they passed under, Armin felt quite a different cold move over him. He held his catalyst closer, though it could never hope to give him any warmth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Monday 2nd February, 2024  
 _Sankt Blasien, west slope_

Historia woke far later than she'd intended, though she had to admit it was nice to sleep in after the past two years of getting up before dawn religiously. It was strange not to hear the bells of the mission churches she'd taught at, to not feel the urge to throw the blanket off her due to sweltering heat rather than draw it close against a seeping cold. The fuzziness of dreams faded as her skin prickled, and she remembered.

"I'm in Sankt Blasien," she told herself, and groaned. _What in the world was I thinking?_

Judging by the fact that she could see the sun over the rooftops outside her window opposite the bed, it was late morning. Although she wasn't able to detect them, she had little doubt that the others had already summoned their Servants by now or, if they hadn't, would be doing so very shortly. As much as she was regretting having agreed to this outfit, she couldn't help the competitive streak from pulling her upright in the bed.

Historia kept the blanket around her shoulders and cast her eyes around the plain bedroom - presumably it'd belonged to an older couple judging by the decor and lack of children's things for her to notice in the rest of the house when she got here. Most of the house had been emptied, for that matter, probably when Lord El-Melloi made the entire town evacuate, and what _was_ left seemed to have been brought in from other sources. She glanced at her thrown-open suitcase in the middle of the floor, the catalyst box poking out of her spare clothes that she had yet to change into.

 _I suppose it's too late to forfeit now. And anyway,_ Historia thought, dragging herself and the blanket off the bed to wander over, _it's not like this is a real Grail War. We're just summoning them to trigger the Lesser Grail and dismantle the Greater Grail; a day's work at most and then we're done and I can go back to Cambodia._

She pushed her suitcase to one side of the room off the top of the magic circle she'd chalked the night before, cursed under her breath, and hurriedly mended the smudges. The effort gave her enough warmth to discard the blanket back on the bed; her fingertips left smears of pink dust behind. Next she opened the catalyst box and procured the sandal, placing it in the center of the circle, and then grabbed her drawstring bag of runes. The green silk bag was opened until it draped flat in her hand, enabling her to see her main supply. The polished and engraved stones gleamed in the sunshine as though happy to see her; she chose seven, one for each point of the star within the circle.

Once they were placed, Historia stood back and tied her rune bag shut, holding it close to her stomach for a few moments of reassurance. She took a deep breath and set it aside in favor of pulling out a piece of folded lined paper from the pocket of her shorts. She unfolded it and angled it in the light to read the lilac glitter-gel ink.

"Oh Noble Spirit, hear me, heed me:  
by _ansuz_ I call thee, owing to thine nature  
as far beyond my own, as far removed from my own,  
as mere mortal - _mannaz_ 's attestation -"

Historia paused, somewhat surprised, when her chalk circle began to glow with coral light - gently, like a sunrise stretching. Combined with the morning sun it gave the room a pleasant rosy glow, though she wasn't altogether sure if the warmth was imagined.

She cleared her throat. "Oh Noble Spirit, hear me, heed me:  
by _odal_ and _fehu_ I ask of thee to lend thine strength,  
to take presence in this world, to contract with me,  
and lead me to the victory thou art owed;"

The glowing became a bubbling and sparking, like ribbons of boiling rose gold, and Historia stepped back instinctively to avoid being splattered. She eyed the sandal in the center of the sigil-accented star - it was quaking, jumping in place as though possessed. Streaks of mana were beginning to stir wind in the bedroom.

She raised her voice, "Oh Noble Spirit, _naudiz_ shows my need of thee,  
hear me, heed me. Anchor thyself to me and to this shred  
of thine mortal vessel, lost so long ago - whatever thou may be, I deserve thee.  
Hear me, heed me."

She looked away from her script, no longer needing it, and instead holding out her left hand, on the back of which had begun a burning sensation. A good sign.

"Hear me, heed me. Hear me, heed me  
Hear me, heed me. Hear me, heed me."

The room rumbled, floorboards threatening to warp, walls groaning. The windowpanes shattered. The circle crackled like freed electricity.

"Hear me, heed me! Hear me, heed me!  
Reveal thyself!"

An outline of a human, flooded with golden light and tethered to the sandal, sprung upward like a spat flame. It took on substance until three-dimensional, and then gained color - Historia realized she was staring at a lithe, bronze-skinned woman, not much older than she, dressed in a wine-colored, tailored but simple set of cropped trousers and long-sleeved tunic. A matching half-cape hung over her right shoulder to the backs of her knees, while the hijab she wore softened the edges of the unmistakable salt-white skull mask that covered the top half of her face. She smiled.

Silence followed; the mana of Historia's drawn circle died to nothing, but there still seemed to be a glow emanating from the Servant that Historia couldn't attribute to the sunlight - for she'd summoned Assassin.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Historia said to break the precarious silence, more quietly than she'd intended. She knew she needed to establish dominance. She breathed in for courage, and raised her left hand with the brand-like intricate red marking of her Command Seals, "You've revealed yourself, Assassin - and so you know, I am your -"

"It is only to my rightful Master that I would ever reveal myself," Assassin interrupted, and bowed deep. Her voice was smooth and yet cold, like marble, or steel.

"'Rightful'?" Historia couldn't help but quip.

Assassin nodded. Sharp gold eyes fixed upon her. Her voice was warmer as she said, "You remind me of the Queen I lost."

* * *

 _Sankt Blasien, north slope_

"You are an interesting choice."

Marco wasn't sure how to take that, which, he was sure, was deliberate.

He'd painted his summoning circle on the back patio of the abandoned restaurant he'd been placed in; banks of thin metal chairs and tables hemmed them in on two sides, and while he'd picked this spot because it was at the crossing of two leylines it'd resulted in his Servant scorching the flagstones with her mana when she'd arrived. He'd had to jump out of the way to avoid the backlash and had ended up in a stack of folded table umbrellas, and now she was looking at him in disdain. She hadn't moved from the circle - it'd been over a few minutes now - and he'd caught her eyeing the Command Seals on his right hand.

She rolled her eyes as Marco got to his feet, and she crouched to pick up the soft lambskin glove - her catalyst - from the ground. She looked it over, nostalgia momentarily clouding her face, before slipping it on alongside the one already on her right arm. This done, she smoothed an unseen crease in her slim gown of ivory crushed velvet, making the golden belt draped over her waist glimmer in the sunshine. Her long sleeves waved in a breeze that came between the buildings.

Marco decided he'd have to hazard a guess - and get it right - if he was to ever have a hope of staying on her good side. "You're Caster," he said.

She brushed loose pieces of her blonde hair behind her ear and fixed him with steady blue eyes. "You don't win the kingdom, but you are right. Not totally useless, then." At long last she took a couple of steps forward. "And you would presume to be my Master?"

"I am," Marco said, and attempted a confident smile.

She did not seem impressed. "An interesting choice, like I said. Your level of ability is paltry compared to my own. Your intuition and powers of evocation are the only thing that distinguish you from non-magi, and I can already see that you have next to no ambition."

"Ambition isn't the only virtue," Marco said. He thought of his decision to discontinue his education, to take care of his stricken younger brother instead. Ambition had sent him to school; love had made him forgo it. He had never regretted it, though he knew his life path had been altered forever. If he hadn't, perhaps he wouldn't be here now bartering his participation for a shorter donor waiting list.

Caster turned from him, looked around her as if in hope there might be something more promising elsewhere.

Not to be deterred, Marco observed, "You can detect all that about me so quickly?"

"Of course," she said absentmindedly. "Who do you think I am? A charlatan?" A slight roll of her shoulders, and she had conjured a long, heavy fur coat to match her gloves and wrapped herself in it, pulling the hood over her head.

"No, never that," Marco said. He pushed his hands into his pockets, watching the shorter woman wander around the courtyard. "I know who you are, and I'm honored."

"Then keep it to yourself, if you know what's good for you," she said over her shoulder. "And I hope your mind is stronger than your mana in that case otherwise your position in this war is all but decided before it even begins."

"But we're not here to fight a war."

Caster turned on her heel. Her expression was tired, almost bored. "Then you are deceiving yourself, boy. Everything is a war."

* * *

 _Sankt Blasien, east slope_

Connie watched as Archer made an excited noise and scooped her catalyst off the roof terrace floor. "Aha! My ring!" she said and slipped it onto her right thumb.

"Can we go? There's a _fire,_ " he shouted for the fifth time and threw his arms out to indicate the fire that'd nearly consumed the thatch awning over the pergola that'd once provided shade to the residents.

"Hm?" Archer looked over at him as if noticing him for the first time. "Oh." The embroidered brocade hems of her split tunic and the white cotton skirts underneath them swished around her shins as she walked over. She stopped in front of him, smiling. "You must be my Master."

"I was expecting a little more respect than that," Connie said, "but more importantly - you've been in this world for less than five minutes and already you've started a fire above where I was sleeping! I wasn't even ready to call you!"

She shrugged. "It was time. So where's your war?" she walked over to the edge of the roof and hopped on it. One of the turned-up points of her soft boots tapped on the plasterwork as she idly surveyed their domain; one hand pressed against the beaded cap that kept her hood in place to shield her eyes from the sun. Chestnut-brown hair tickled her forehead and cheeks in the wind.

"I told you, there is none! Now help me put this fire out!" Connie ducked back inside and down the stairs in search of something to carry water. He regretted his decision to use his usual methods of setting anchor materials on fire around the perimeter of his magic circle - it'd worked too well. He hadn't even performed an incantation and Archer had burst into being like a firework as soon as he'd finished lighting the dried sage, instantly parching the roof of snow, scattering his crucibles everywhere and sending embers onto the now-dry thatch. Connie had prided himself on having good luck but that seemed to have been singed along with his eyebrows.

"You're right."

Connie jumped in his skin as Archer appeared at the bottom of the staircase.

She beamed up at him. "The fire will alert our enemies. We should snuff it and move on to another camp." She disappeared around the corner.

Connie groaned. If his grades didn't get a boost from this he'd be sorely disappointed, and maybe even drop out altogether like Marco. This Servant seemed like too much of a handful already.

* * *

 _Sankt Blasien, north slope_

Armin watched deft hands tie the fox tail to the tip of his lance, and wrap it a few times around the shaft before tucking it back on itself. All the while he spoke to himself in clearly-enunciated Latin, like a long prayer, as he had been ever since he'd materialized in this world and taken his first breath - if Armin could call it a true breath. He'd tried interrupting the Servant once or twice to get his attention but had soon given up when he realized it wasn't doing any good. Now he simply waited.

The Servant - whom Armin had quickly determined was of the Lancer class - was a young man in the prime of life, with ash-blond hair messily shorn and darker underneath, dressed in a dark brown leather jerkin and trousers over a linen shirt the color of the wine that had once been aged here. Bright, pale eyes were narrowed in concentration and didn't pay the teen any attention. Most of all, though, was that Armin could not readily identify who he was and, as with any secret kept from him, found it frustrating.

" _..._ _dum Stellae mortui requiescere fac me fideliter. Extremum vitae tutelam fiat, et exitum ministrare ultima pulsu cor meum laude. Amen._ " There was quiet in the cellar; even the dust motes floating through the shafts of light from the high, simple stained-glass windows seemed loud. Lancer finally looked up at Armin. "You are my Master, then," he said evenly, and glanced over him. "A bit young for this, surely?"

Armin readjusted his footing and his hold on the book he held to his stomach, a little defensive. "Does age matter?"

Lancer shook his head. "Not in this game, no. War doesn't care about that." He stood and propped his lance beside him, which rose maybe a foot taller than his head at maybe seven feet.

"You've been to war, then?" Armin guessed, since he didn't fit with the identities of the known Servants of other Grail Wars. "Were you a knight?"

"I was, of a kind," Lancer agreed with the ghost of a smile. He paused, seemed to assess Armin again.

Armin relaxed a little. "You're wondering if you can trust the fortitude of my mind, and reveal who you really are without risk of me being compromised."

"No," said Lancer. "I know it already. I was merely wondering why someone of your age has been burdened with such ability, and why you are here willingly."

"For a good cause," said Armin, setting his spellbook aside on the table he'd pushed into one corner. "To stop future wars. If I can help accomplish that, that's all I want."

Lancer huffed to himself and paced around Armin, stopping in the light from one of the small windows. The point of the lance fell into the light cast through the red glass border of the pane, making it appear tipped with blood. The other border formed a crimson stripe along the pale ground leading between Servant and Master, like the stripe of a flag.

Considering this, Armin looked up. "I know who you are," he said.

Lancer turned to him, "So soon?" he laughed. "Then say it once and let's keep it between us thereafter. You look like you need the encouragement right now."

"I felt accomplished enough getting the Lancer class, but...you're Saint George, aren't you?" Armin couldn't help but smile to himself.

"You're very intuitive. I am."

For the first time since the sea rail train, Armin felt excited. "I'm Armin. Armin Arlert."

"I'm honored to serve you, Master Arlert." The Saint bowed to him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Note from the Author:** Sorry for the massive wait for an update, folks! Thank you for your patience and let me know what you think. It's been a struggle to get the muse back for this one.

* * *

 **Chapter 4  
** Tuesday 3rd February, 2024  
 _Sankt Blasien_

Levi watched Smith approach the square where they'd agreed to meet through the cool shadows of the alley with a cocky-looking Springer in tow. Seemed as though he'd made good on his word to take on a mentorly role with the younger members, because as Levi looked a moment more he saw Reiss and Hoover following him, too. They were laughing at something Springer was regaling them with. Levi rolled his eyes.

"There you are, Warden Ackerman!"

He glanced over his shoulder to see Bodt and Arlert hurrying over to him like two excited puppies.

"We didn't think we were late meeting you but I guess we were!" Arlert said. They came to a stop and caught their breath.

"I never said anything about meeting," Levi said. "I'm not your tour guide."

Bodt put his hands on his hips, undeterred. "Well we're here now!"

Smith joining them stopped Levi from another snide comment. "Good morning, everyone. Ready to go to the monastery? Having seen your Servants yesterday I feel very positive about our mission here."

They began walking. The weather was as beautiful as it'd been yesterday, with a slight breeze that brought the smell of the evergreen forests that surrounded them and snow from the mountains, and brilliant sunshine that made him squint. Levi kept ahead and slightly to one side of the group as they chatted happily, leaving him to scan the shadows and glance at every startled bird that took flight.

 _There really was no need for him to check on all of them,_ Levi thought. _It'll only make them dependent. Not to mention it's somewhat...uncouth to examine and coach a stranger's Summoning outside of the classroom, even if we're all meant to be on a team. I thought he'd respect that. At least, I guess, he's briefed the Servants on their purpose so that's saved us time._

The buildings around them grew taller, and so the shadows were longer, deeper. They tucked their coats tighter around them and walked quickly, their breath escaping as fog. Levi found himself half-listening to the conversations behind him to distract him from the eerie emptiness of the town. Soon enough, though, the monastery rose in front of them and they slowed to a stroll across the frosty courtyard to admire it.

The tall double wood and iron doors were framed in the middle of six large squared-off, pale stone columns standing in between the two stout towers of the facade. Two clocks crowned these towers, leading the eye upward to the visible crescent of the patina-green dome crowned with the blazing gold _globus cruciger_.

"After it fell out of use as an abbey, it became a Jesuit college before that too moved to another location," said Smith. It hardly surprised Levi that he'd read up on the place. "The last ten years it's been simply a tourist attraction - surprising in a town this small where you'd think such a large space would be a precious commodity. Seems nothing can stay in it long enough to warrant the trouble. Though I doubt they know why misfortune has always befallen them."

"Misfortune?" Hoover asked.

"Fires, structural collapse - even sudden withdrawals of funding counts. I suppose you could view secularization as a misfortune, if you were a monk in the 1800s." Smith looked around them as he started up the seven shallow steps. "This place was never going to be devoid of spirituality, though."

"At least six leylines are crossing here," added Bodt, frowning. "It feels like it's one pole of a magnet, while we're the opposite pole of another...like it wants to repel things that aren't…" he chuckled, "well, _it_." His mirth was brief, but whatever else continued to trouble him was not voiced.

Levi clucked his tongue and passed Smith on the stairs, impatient to be out of the chill. The doors were open, after all, and the breeze was letting in debris from the outside and it didn't seem respectful to allow that for longer than necessary. "Fascinating but we have a job to do," he grumbled.

It was like entering the inside of a seashell; bright with both sunlight streaming through the multitude of narrow windows and additional but discreet artificial light, gleaming white and gray marble enclosed them. All furniture had been removed, leaving the job of breaking up all the brightness to the immense silver and walnut antique organ at the far end of the rounded nave, a couple of decorative dark gray strips of marble tile underfoot marking what were once two aisles, and the preserved jewel-tone painted frescoes overhead.

"Good morning," called Lord El-Melloi. He came forward from the shadows of the organ and descended from the sanctuary. "If we're ready to begin?"

Although Levi had never been fond of El-Melloi, he had to admire their mutual respect for efficiency.

"I believe so, yes," Smith answered for all of them.

"I will lead, then. The circle will be the outermost circumference of the dome," Lord El-Melloi pointed upward, "so if you'd please disperse."

The seven of them did so, forming a circle with a roughly-even amount of space between them, while Lord El-Melloi remained outside of it in front of the organ.

"After the first verse on the incantation, summon your Servants. I will take it from there."

Levi wasn't fond of not knowing the particulars of the Grail Summoning - at least not in practice versus theory - but he had little option. As Lord El-Melloi began his recitations, Levi thought back to what Smith had said about their new responsibilities - to kill a way of life that was in itself killing. However much he agreed it left a peculiar tang in his mouth. He believed they would succeed, of course, and it wasn't that he was concerned for AIM's funding - it was too late for that - but it seemed only proper to be hesitant toward the snuffing-out of something this immense. And as much as they'd been briefed, he still felt like there were so many unknowns - too many, for something of this magnitude, and they weren't due to the nature of the beast.

Levi came back to the present as the ethereal pressure simultaneously pulled and pushed at his being; he realized that the glowing red lines of the magic circle were underfoot, and that other Masters had summoned their Servants - little more than half-obscured figures in various tones and colors of ether that he had no time to observe. They were waiting on him, arms with their command sigils raised and their gazes turned to him. Reluctantly, he too outstretched his hand and, barely having to do anything, the vivid crimson ether of Saber sparked and exploded from his fingertips to join the others. Having her this close meant he could barely hear Lord El-Melloi at this point, so instead he relied on watching and feeling the leylines surging underfoot. He had to squint because of the violence of the lights around them. The beautiful marble was starting to crack under the strain, and the rest of the abbey shook.

 _A little longer,_ he thought. _They won't even take material form - there's no point, or time. They'll just be reabsorbed again._ It seemed a shame to waste catalysts and strong Servants like this, but he supposed there was no turning back now. _A world free of the Grail…_

Abruptly, there was a screech. Levi felt the magic around them falter, which allowed a new sensation to creep in. He strained and saw Lord El-Melloi had stopped, too, and that the other Masters were looking curiously at one another. Absurdly his first thought was Bodt's hypothesis, that the abbey itself was rejecting them, but then he realized that it was something far worse.

 _Not just one thing,_ he picked out. His heart shot to his throat. _Seven -_

"Guard!" Smith shouted over the roar of the magic, and for a moment Levi felt himself transported back to the front lines of the American Magus Revolt over ten years ago. He and Smith had distinguished themselves there - but could they hope to achieve the same glory here after all?

The magic circle dimmed, as did the auras of the Servants. Everything and everyone was suddenly moving as seven additional Servants sprung from the marble, the great dome, the very air in the circle, and lashed out at them. The ruby silhouette of Saber in front of him materialized as what his uncle had told him was Tomoe Gozen, in the same move unsheathing her katana to block a spear's stab from striking him.

Fireballs began to rain down from the chaos, along with pieces of the dome.

"Retreat!" Smith shouted again.

The circle broke as the eight of them scattered. Levi had little time to determine where the others were going, though despite himself he hesitated between blindly obeying Erwin and trying to ensure the novice Masters' safety despite the ribbons and clouds of unfettered magic in his way. His blood thundered in his ears as he backed toward a fire exit, Saber covering him. He thought he heard Reiss scream.

 _This was always a risk - the Grail will seek to protect itself - but with this many leylines…_ He nearly stumbled as the floor cracked and warped. _They're independent. There's no one around to receive the second set of Command Seals. There's nothing to control them._

Suddenly, Smith was beside him, a hand on his shoulder, pushing him. "Who knew they would all show up at once," he said. "We need to regroup."

"Where's El-Melloi?"

"There's no time. He'll find his way."

Levi risked a glance backward as they pushed through the fire exit; Saber had vanished and there was no sign of Smith's Servant, either, but the Second Servants seemed to be grouping together now, tumbling over one another in the air, making wordless noises. He'd never seen anything like it, and he looked away.

* * *

Bertholdt tumbled out into one of the two inner courtyards of the abbey and fell into a hedge. Despite the thick marble wall now between him and it, the cacophony of the Second Servants still felt all around him. His hands hovered by his head, expecting another half-strike of ether. The ground continued to shake under him.

 _What the shit - what the shit,_ he trilled in his head. _They didn't say anything about this -_

"Get up, keep moving!" his Servant ordered.

He glanced up; Rider was resplendent in gold even now, the gilded laurel wreath atop his blond hair and handsome face, which was smirking as if this was a challenge rather than a crisis. His loose linen robes waved in the draft billowing through the doorway behind him. One hand held horseless reins, while the other reached down and pulled Bertholdt to his feet. He was incredibly warm to the touch.

"The goals of your people will mean nothing if you do not survive this initial assault," Rider added. "Follow." He raised the hand that held the reins and they grew taut, as if being lifted on their opposite end, and raised the other to Bertholdt but did not grasp him.

Rider charged straight forward and Bertholdt was pulled in his wake by an invisible force; he tried not to slip on ice that'd gathered in the lee of the fountain they rounded, but that was the extent of keeping his feet under him of his own accord - he half-ran, half-glided. Rider burst through a smaller door in the antebuildings and they plunged through the dark of administrative areas. Desks and chairs and filing cabinets were pushed aside a couple of steps ahead of the comet-like Servant, like the sea by the prow of a ship.

"W-wall!" Bertholdt shouted but was unable to stop himself.

Rider did not stop. The opposite wall, with its floor-to-ceiling bookcases, burst open, dazzling Bertholdt with bright daylight. He ducked from falling books and loose scrolls bounced off his shoulders as they ran - rode? - into the lawn behind the abbey. Rider was laughing.

"There will not be much left of this place for your people to migrate your mountains to!" Rider said.

Bertholdt finally felt his feet be completely under him, and under his control. He caught his breath. He eyed his Servant. _So that's what he meant by the goals of my people._

Rider caught his gaze and Bertholdt momentarily felt himself caught too, in those merciless amber eyes. "We were matched well," said Rider, as he had said during the initial summoning when they'd met.

Although this appeared good, Bertholdt was wary of it - after all, he still wasn't sure of Rider's true identity and the Servant seemed disinclined to tell him, as if he found his Master's struggle charming. Command Seals or not, if you did not know your Servant fully you were automatically at a disadvantage to an opponent who could figure it out. Which wasn't such a big deal if you weren't going to have opponents, but that comfort had just been ripped apart.

"We need to regroup with the others," Bertholdt said, eyeing the abbey dome as if expecting it to explode any moment.

"Do we?" Rider said. "We could take advantage of this. After all, they do not contribute to your plans."

"No, but Lord El-Melloi was specific in the conditions we agreed on. He can't sign anything over that's not in his control," countered Bertholdt. He scanned the area for any sign of the others. "Besides, if we don't act quickly then the leylines will either self-destruct or burn out and this location will be useless."

After a moment's hesitation, Rider said, "As you wish."


End file.
